Healing Waters

HEALING WATERS

The year was 1948 and Europe was still recovering from the ravages of the last war. People were starting to thrive again, in business and in their everyday lives, with assurances of better prospects looming ahead.

My parents were preparing to unite their hearts and futures together, and they looked forward to their upcoming marriage and the beginning of the rest of their lives. They were both nineteen and had been dating for about a year, and marriage was not far off. My father was working steadily in a sawmill, but one thing bothered him. On both of his hands were numerous warts. He had started getting them a few years previous, and they had spread until both hands were covered. The warts were everywhere, in between his fingers, some connecting to each other, and one very large one right on his ring finger. Often his hands would get cut at work, resulting in bleeding, and the warts spread even more.

One day he counted the warts and was appalled to find he had fifty-three on the left hand and forty-eight on the right. What am I going to do, he brooded glumly. He knew his future bride loved him just as he was, warts and all, but the thought that he would not be able to get his wedding ring on, caused him some anxiety. He wanted everything to be perfect, including his hands.

An old man he knew, who lived in the neighbourhood, gave him some advice. "Wash your hands in rainwater that has collected in rock crevices," he advised, "then dry them in the sun. Do this several times and the warts will eventually disappear. What have you got to lose, except the warts?"

What, indeed.

It was Midsummer's Night in Finland, the longest day of the year, when the sun never sets. People stay up all night because of this phenomenon, often camping out, or spending time at summer cabins, communing with nature.

Dad became determined to try the old man's remedy for warts. Walking along the craggy shore of the seacoast, those words rang in his ears. "Wash your hands in rainwater that has collected in rock crevices, then dry them in the sun."

Whenever he saw the mineral laden rainwater in the rock crevices, he washed his hands carefully and thoroughly, then held them up to dry naturally in summer's warm air. He repeated this throughout the day, over and over, and then went home and forgot all about it.

A few weeks passed. One day, Dad suddenly noticed that the warts were no longer there. What had happened? He stared in awe, holding up his hands in disbelief, wondering when exactly they had disappeared. The hands that were once fraught with warts were perfectly smooth and unblemished. Not even one wart remained. He could hardly wait for my mother to see his hands. The knowledge that he could now wear a wedding band made his heart sing.

The healing waters had worked their magic, and perhaps the mystical Midsummer Night may have played a part as well. My Dad never got another wart in his life.

Maria Harden
©2001

Story ID:	212
Written by:	Maria Harden (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Family History
Location:	Kokkola Finland
Year:	1948
Person:	My father